


Accepting Your Own Inability To Save Others (Fairy Tale)

by cuddlepunk



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Afterlife, Anxiety, DOE BOY PATRICK, Death, Depression, Fae & Fairies, Forests, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicide, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:32:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6200785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlepunk/pseuds/cuddlepunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's the peacekeeper of his forest, kind to every animal and every plant sharing his home. They've all been safe for ages, thanks to Patrick and his endless patience.</p>
<p>When the boy enters his forest, all the woodland creatures freeze. Patrick's throat closes in, eyes dilating with fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accepting Your Own Inability To Save Others (Fairy Tale)

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning you ding dong read the tags bruh. self harm n suicide, and a lil blood i guess. scars n shit. you get it. sorry pete.
> 
> this aint real n pete n pat dont belong to me (atm) so ye dont share this with anyone involved in fob
> 
> ill update probably the poetry when i get off my ass (and call you in the meantime ill sport my brand new fashion of waking up with pants off in four in the afternoon)

Patrick is mostly renowned for his careful watch over his forest, but it’s no secret that he’s easy on the eyes. Him and his pretty, doe-like features, fanciful fingertips. Not to mention the almost translucent ocean antlers, glowing phosphorescent in the forest’s shadows. He's friends with all the wonders of the woods just as much as he’s a part of it, delicate bluebirds and tiny inchworms settling in on his shoulders.

Sometimes he spends entire days just petting the wolves and cuddling bunnies, helping baby birds back into their nests and finding places for this bear friends to stay. He's the peacekeeper of his forest, kind to every animal and every plant sharing his home. They've all been safe for ages, thanks to Patrick and his endless patience.

It’s due to this attentiveness and skill that Patrick’s never had a major problem, not that he wouldn’t be able to handle one. A few trees have been cut down, and hunters come and go, but he's been able to keep it under control. No serious incidents have taken place under his gaze, and he intends to keep it that way. Patrick’s a cool and collected being, but he doesn’t just put up with shit he knows he can take care of. He knows he can deal with it all. He’s been around for ages, and he’s resolved every conflict so far. At least, he thinks he can handle it.

When the boy enters his forest, all the woodland creatures freeze. Patrick's throat closes in, eyes dilating with fear.

He doesn't seem to have any weapons on him, so he can't want to hurt any of Patrick's family. So why is he here? His eyes are darkened with.. Almost despair, so it can’t just be a walk in the park. Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel right to the doe boy. Patrick trails behind him, eyes soft with consideration and concern but mind set to tackle whatever this troublemaker has in store. 

Tickly ferns sway against the harmful tracks of the boy’s thick-heeled boots, old trees groaning with the weight carried in the boy’s head. Unease stirs in the sky, puffy pink evening clouds churning into gooey dark streaks. The forest only reacts like this when something serious is about to happen, Patrick can tell. Never has he seen his beloved family behave so erratically. Something is horribly off about this boy, and Patrick has to figure out what.

Angry steps kick up frozen dirt in the late fall frost, dark hair falling over his eyes but not stopping him from trudging on into the center of the woods. His purple hoodie is much too thin to keep him warm, Patrick thinks. He’s shivering in the cold, eyes watering with irritation. Stance rigid and tripping over every stone in his path. It’s uncomfortable to watch. This is worrying.

Patrick follows him throughout the dark fall maze, each pathway and bramble known to the blonde like the back of his hand. He stays just out of sight, coasting from branch to branch, stepping softly over hard ground. Patrick winces when the boy trips on a thorn bush and sticky blotches of blood erupt from his hands. The creatures can feel the pain, chickadees quaking in their nests, beetles scattering away from him. A small part of Patrick doesn't want to deal with this. A much greater part knows he must do the right thing.

The boy stops at an outcropping of tall rocks, cold tears soaking into the muddy forest floor beneath him. He scratches harshly at the back of his neck, pounding fists against his thighs and putting his blotchy rose face in his hands.

Patrick pokes his head out from behind a thick trunk tree, sky blues observing the scene carefully. Patrick catches his eye for a moment, before the boy scrapes at his thighs again. "Great, now I'm hallucinating."

Patrick's breath catches in his throat when the boy takes out a shiny metal object, unable to move as it's brought down to the boy's now exposed wrist. It's caked over in relentless scars and deep scabs, Patrick can see now. Each drop of blood on the dirt is a stab in the forest fae's heart.

As if it wasn't bad enough, the boy kept going, long, thick drags against harshly parted flesh. Slices and slashes, all more and more angled straight down the middle of his forearm. If he keeps going -- he'll -

"Stop!" Patrick calls out, not worrying about keeping himself hidden anymore. "You need to stop. You can't do that. I've n-never had anyone -"

"I can and I will." The boy's voice is quiet and controlled, despite the malice his words hold. "I've dealt with enough voices in my head to block out yours, thank you very much." His voice drops to a whisper as more sickly blood pours out onto the ground.

Patrick takes more tentative steps forwards, heart blaring in his ears. This is his job, dammit. He can do this.

"Hey, I watch over this forest, and you can't do that. It's not alright."

The boy laughs softly, using his alternate sleeve to wipe off some thick clots before turning up to face him. "Cute. Really."

Patrick furrows his brows. "Here, give me your arm." His delicate fingers reach out for the marred skin.

"Why?"

"Give it here!" He commands. Some part of him wonders why this boy hasn't made any comments on his wi ice blue eyes, or the fucking antlers, maybe. Even the ethereal forest wear he made for himself is cool, he thinks anyways. But that's beside the point.

Patrick grabs the boy's arm, delicate fingertips pushing over the scar tissue and new wounds. Bright red soaks into his sleeves, but he doesn't care. Each soft caress closes the cuts more and more, some old forest magic finally coming to good use. A warm blue glow whisks the blood off, the skin there now a smooth caramel. Noticing the dried blood and dead skin accumulating on the boy's lips, patrick leans in for a peck, instantly healing all the damage. Might as well do some extra, this is the first time he's had to use his powers in a few months.

Patrick brings him in for a heartfelt hug, brushing his hands through the thick dark hair on the back of his neck. "It'll be okay, alright? I care about you. Come back if you need me." With one more soft squeeze, he fades into the frosty scenery.

 

###

Patrick sees the boy again in a few months time, when the snow covers the ground in thick quilted layers and dark clouds rush overhead. It's not in the way Patrick wants to see him, though.

He feels when the boy enters his first once more, but it carries a different weight. Patrick dashes to the scene, chilly flakes distressed in his path.

But the boy isn't leaving any footprints.

"I'm sorry." He calls out softly, new dark wings curling in on him with the statement.

Patrick swallows hard. "It's okay. I guess." The forest's friends come out to watch the scene from a distance. "I never did get your name."

He scratches the back of his head. "Pete. I guess it doesn't matter anymore, though."

Patrick shakes his head. "Of course it does, come here."

Patrick pulls him in for another embrace, leaning gratefully into the feeling of calloused hands brushing up against his antlers. He reaches down to the leathery bat-like wings. "These are new."

"Yeah." He chuckles softly.

"I like them." Patrick murmurs, playing with the material of Pete's soft sweatshirt.

He pulls away, hands still intertwined with the new fledgling's. "You can stay with me, if you want. I could use the help, it's hibernation season. You don't have to, though. It takes a while to figure out, I know."

He grins, rubbing an open hand across the fae's shoulders. "I'd like to be with you while I sort everything out."

Patrick tips their foreheads together. "I'm glad."


End file.
